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FROM A . , . 
 CHINESE Gi^UDBN. 
 
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 ^-^Congr^^ 
 
FROM A CHINESE GARDEN 
 
 BY 
 
 Drurt Kemp Mitcheli,. 
 
 Copyrighted 1898 by D. K. Mitchell. 
 
 1398. 
 MODEL PTG. CO., PUBLISHER; 
 KANSAS CITY, MO. 
 
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A dreamer lives forever. 
 
 — John Boyle O^ReiUy. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Where is the man so wise that he can say 
 He knows where time has buried yes- 
 terday. 
 
 Where is the man whose heart has turned 
 so cold 
 
 That he has never felt the love of old 
 Rise from the violet that he laid away 
 With memory when the bitter tale was 
 told. 
 
LAMENT. 
 I. 
 
 In the third watch of the first day of the 
 
 year my heart died. 
 I wander thro' worlds hot-eyed and 
 
 weary ; 
 I stagger like the sea, and as it does, 
 
 clutch at a star; 
 Night comes and wraps me in the folds 
 
 of her mantle, 
 But Death leers at me out of space — I 
 
 would slay him with a brazen sword. 
 Lo, I am as a flower forsaken by day; 
 I stand with drooping head; 
 I feel Mother Night's tears fall upon me; 
 I can only weep and cry out to Nieaulan. 
 
II. 
 
 I would kiss a shadow but it eludes my 
 crazy groping; 
 
 I would touch with hesitating finger one 
 string in memory's harp, but it is 
 broken and can sing no more for me; 
 
 My soul goes out to strew images of 
 gilded paper on a grave, but there 
 in the gloom it grows afraid, 
 
 I have raised a monument to my heart 
 and have inscribed upon it: 
 "Never Again." 
 
SONG. 
 
 The odor of flowers — that was my love- 
 god's sweetest desire. 
 
 High on the altar placed I blooms fresh 
 
 from my heart; 
 Then came a flame, and, as the scent 
 
 rose on the wings of the fire; 
 
 Love sang a song and the weft of it was, 
 "Ne'er shall I depart." 
 
LOVE WHERE ART THOU? 
 
 It is the youth of the year. 
 
 The flowers have heard the music of the 
 wind swept harp of Spring, and have 
 opened their eyes to the world. 
 
 Now men go to the tombs of their an- 
 cestors and worship: 
 
 I burn funeral offerings to a shade. 
 
 "Love" I cry in a voice laden of tears, 
 
 "Love where art thou?" 
 
 Alas, Love hears me not. 
 
 I see the solitary sepulchre, 
 
 But I search in vain for Love. 
 
SONQ. 
 
 Life is as the leaf 
 
 That drifts upon the tide of winds. 
 
 A star above and night upon the sea; 
 
 No thought but thine; naught but thy 
 memory, 
 
 Thy image and thy voice within my 
 
 heart. 
 
THE MUSICIAN. 
 I. 
 
 A wizard he was and came whence none 
 
 could tell. 
 Guiltless of Earth he seemed, yet Sorrow 
 
 was throned in his eyes. 
 He bore enchantment — a spirit girt round 
 
 with wood, so men said — beneath 
 
 his arm. 
 
 II. 
 
 He whispered to it, 
 
 And lo, 
 
 Out of its sorrowing depths came the 
 
 wail of the spirit; 
 The wail for a loss not found, 
 Tho' long sought, even There. 
 
III. 
 
 He caressed the thing, 
 And the clamor of the strings, 
 Love swept. 
 
 Told of longings without death. 
 Low, sweet, breathing of flowers, and 
 vows and an altar. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then he laughed to it. 
 
 And it answered with a shout of joy, 
 
 Which told of contentment, 
 
 Like that where a heart gnawing has 
 
 been allayed; 
 Yet a shadow was in it 
 That drove it on into silence. 
 
/W>^ O " O »'y~ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 40 __:..^:^^- 
 
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